


And a Little Angst Flies in the Window of the Impala With Dad a Half Mile Up the Road

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-02
Updated: 2006-08-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 06:45:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8701600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Follow up to Romance Goes Out the Window With Dad in the Next Room. Exactly how thin were those walls?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Title: And a Little Angst Flies in the Window of the Impala With Dad a Half Mile Up the Road  
Author: merepersiflage  
Pairings: Sam/Dean   
Rating: 18+  
Category: slash  
Word Count: 3500  
Spoilers: Through “Dead Man’s Blood”  
Summary: Follow up to [Romance Goes Out the Window With Dad in the Next Room](http://merepersiflage.livejournal.com/977.html#cutid1). Exactly how thin were those walls?  
Warnings: Incest, graphic m/m sex, language, a mention of Sam being underage when they started  
Disclaimer: The boys belong to others, I intend no harm and will make no profit. And I really did this to Peggy’s Ken and Chip dolls. I wonder if that’s why I never got invited back to her house?  
Notes:Sorry it's not as fluffy as the last one, but man, breakfast was uncomfortable. Thanks to [ ](http://la-folle-allure.livejournal.com/profile)[**la_folle_allure**](http://la-folle-allure.livejournal.com/) for saving the ending.   
  
  
  
**And a Little Angst Flies in the Window of the Impala With Dad a Half Mile Up the Road**  
  
Every step Sam took reminded him of last night. Not strictly pain or pleasure, just a little yelp from muscles weighing in with their protests for the rough treatment. The memory of how his muscles had gotten made his balls tingle a little. When everything had settled in, it had been a hell of a ride.  
  
And walking wasn’t the worst of his problems this morning. They were at a diner for breakfast, and Sam bit off a curse when he realized that with Dad there again, he and Dean were going to be sharing one side of a booth. And it wasn’t just the painful slide across the seat—god forbid Dean sit on the inside—but having to sit with his brother almost touching him, with the echo of last night’s fuck ringing through his body, sit and look at Dad with no distraction but runny eggs and weak coffee.   
  
Sam preferred Denny’s or IHOP’s for breakfast, Starbucks and Dunkin Donuts for coffee. At least then you knew exactly what you were getting. Dad and Dean liked the unpredictability of local diners, claiming that you got a wider choice of food and much better local gossip.   
  
Alone with Dean, he got to make the choice at least half the time. Now it was two against one, and of course, only one of those two votes counted for anything. Back to the same old shit. He sure hoped the gossip at this diner was good, because the food was crap.   
  
Dad nodded to the waitress who refilled their coffees and disappeared. The waitress wasn’t much better looking than the food.  
  
Sam picked at the soggy mess on his plate. This was a vegetable omelet? And it only got worse.   
  
“Now.” Dad said between bites of food.   
  
Sam felt his brother lean forward at the same time he did. At last they were going to get some information about the damned demon.  
  
“I know you boys are all grown up, and you may think you’re too old to hear this, but I should have talked to you about this a long time ago.”   
  
That did not sound promising. In fact, it sounded suspiciously like—   
  
“Hunting’s a lonely job. Always has been.”  
  
Oh, no. Dad was not going to give them The Talk, not now, not after all these years, and certainly not after last night.  
  
He felt Dean tense beside him, could practically feel the heat of his blush, but he couldn’t look at him. Maybe they hadn’t been quiet enough last night.  
  
“Uh, Dad—” Dean began and Dad gave him a look that made his jaw snap shut with a sound Sam could actually hear.   
  
“I know we had this conversation about succubi and other female demons.”  
  
Sam felt that look go right through him as he thought of how much information he had given Meg. He tried to hide his face behind his coffee mug.  
  
“And I know you have each other—”   
  
Dad’s next words disappeared in a haze of pain as burning coffee went down the wrong pipe and even as he could feel it start to leak out of his nose, he would not cough, would not sputter, he was going to freaking explode.  
  
Dad’s voice went on. “—wanted to tell you that if after we get this son of a bitch—”  
  
But now Sam’d swear it was about to leak out his ears. He couldn’t breathe.   
  
“—understand if you—”   
  
He gave it five seconds before the need to survive had him spitting coffee out his mouth and nose. At least he’d go down fighting.   
  
“—but if you do decide to keep hunting you need to be sure to give each other . . . time to meet all your needs. You—”  
  
That was it. His diaphragm took control, forcing air and coffee out of his lungs and he just managed to get a hand up before he doused the whole table.   
  
Dean thumped his back unhelpfully.   
  
“All right, Sam?” And the menace in Dean’s voice would have made sensible men flee. “Coffee too hot, ya baby?”  
  
“Now I know I embarrassed him, embarrassed you too, but since I never really gave you boys a choice I wanted you to know—”  
  
“We know.” Dean’s voice was dangerously tight.  
  
“All right then.” Dad leaned back and sipped his own coffee, but his eyes watched them over the rim of his mug. Sam wiped himself up with his napkin and looked down at his soggier omelet. He dropped the napkin on top of it.  
  
Dean tried to fake it, but Sam knew Dad had put an end to even Dean’s appetite for breakfast.   
  
They all sipped coffee in silence until the waitress returned with their check. Dad picked it up, Dean threw some bills down for the tip, and they were out the door, still without another word.   
  
Sam pulled the car door shut behind him and waited for the explosion.  
  
“Well, that was pleasant.” Dean said in a voice so mild Sam could scarcely hear it over the engine.   
  
“Yeah,” Sam said warily.  
  
The tires kicked up some loose stones to clatter under the frame as they followed Dad’s truck out onto the highway.   
  
“He knows.”  
  
Sam had come to a similar conclusion while gasping through Dad’s speech, but he had to argue anyway. Because it was Dean. And because he would be so much happier if he could convince himself it wasn’t true.   
  
“Not necessarily.”  
  
“Oh really? What’s your take on it, genius?”  
  
“He could have just meant what he said: It’s a tough job and sometimes you need a little outlet.”  
  
“I don’t want to know anything about Dad’s ‘outlets’ and now that he knows about ours—but the way, nice going, loud boy.”  
  
“Me? I didn’t make a sound. You wouldn’t let me. And I’m not the one who sounded like a wolf growling when he came.”  
  
“Yeah, well neither of us are going to have to worry about that, ‘cause it’s not happening again.”  
  
“What?”   
  
Dean gave him That Look. His brother had a lot of looks, each one capable of expressing an entire sentence. Sam wondered if he should start cataloging them so he could refer to them by number.   
  
There was the arched-brow, stern-lipped “Because I said so”; the wide-eyed, wet-lipped, “Want you bad”; the hard-eyed, tight-jawed “Something’s gonna die bloody”; and the crinkly-eyed, toothy “Gotcha” smirk. This look was the eye rolling, pressed-lipped “How the hell did my baby brother even learn to tie his shoes when he’s so fucking stupid” look. Currently number three on the hit list in heavy rotation.   
  
“C’mon Dean. For how long?”  
  
“As long as it takes.”  
  
“It could be weeks.”  
  
Dean shrugged.  
  
“And that won’t bother you?”   
  
Dean’s shrug was a little less convincing.  
  
“Hey, I really don’t feel like sitting through another breakfast like that, do you? I wonder if it wouldn’t be better if he’d freaked out.”  
  
“But we still can’t be sure he knows.”  
  
“And way to confirm it for him with that choking fit. Why didn’t you just give him a play by play of everything: ‘Dad, Dean’s had his hand in my pants since I was fifteen. Last night was just a quickie.’”  
  
And they were back to that again. Dean’s stupid belief that he was responsible for abso-fucking-lutely everything. Talk about your egos.  
  
Sam slammed back into his corner and tried gain to find some place to fit his legs under the dash.   
  
Stupid car. Stupid brother. Stupid fight. An uncomfortable morning heading into an uncomfortable afternoon. Now instead of being just a little sore in places that kept him a little turned on, he was going to be sore, horny, hungry and pissed off all day, trapped with a hungry, pissed off brother who turned up the radio as a sure sign the conversation was over. How very fucking mature. He glared at the passing trees.   
  
*  
  
Dean looked over at Sam’s pout. His brother had given up way too quickly. He was just sitting there, coming up with new arguments, the pre-fucking-law bastard. And when his Sam-logic failed, he’d try pleading, manipulating and all out seduction. Dean hadn’t been able to resist that, despite his best intentions, for almost eight years. At least today he’d have the memory of the most uncomfortable breakfast of his life to act as the cold shower he should have been using all this time.   
  
It’d still be safer if he could stick to his two best tactics to keep Sammy at bay: avoidance and bullshit. So when after a half an hour of brooding Sam leaned over to turn down the radio, he actually considered fighting over the knob like a couple of kids, but if something happened to the radio, he thought he’d go crazy until they got it fixed.   
  
Sam reopened his debate.   
  
_Breakfast. Dad. Those eyes fixed on his._   
  
“Are you telling me you’re going to go into the biggest fight of our lives, one that may kill us and getting laid before you die isn’t a priority?”  
  
“There are more important things than sex.”  
  
“Excuse me, have you seen my brother Dean around here?”  
  
“Sammy, when have I ever missed a kill because of a hookup?”  
  
“But Dean—”  
  
He went on the offensive. “Sam, what is it? I know it’s not that you can’t keep your pants zipped. God knows, I watched you put yourself through hell for more’n six months. There’s a time and a place for it. Now’s really not the time.”  
  
Sam switched tactics. Dean could hear him shifting, didn’t have to look to know Sam was closing the gap between them. He tried again to fix the memory of his father’s look but Sam had leaned over far enough that he could feel his breath in his ear, almost feel the rumble of his voice on his skin as he spoke.   
  
“So you’re telling me that if we die tomorrow, you’re not going to regret not having my mouth on your dick one last time.”  
  
Dean squeezed the steering wheel and tried to shift his legs without Sam noticing. His words, his breath, that image—his thoughts ran downhill along with most of his blood.   
  
“Sam.”  
  
“Dean.”   
  
Dean felt sweat start to prickle on his neck.   
  
“Dad is not in the next room,” Sam said.  
  
“Yeah, he’s a half a mile up the road.”   
  
Even talking about Dad wasn’t helping. Why was he able to control himself around everyone except Sammy? And why did he buy his jeans so fucking tight?  
  
Dean reminded himself that despite the number of times in adolescence he had tried to convince girls of it, you couldn’t actually die from blue balls. He did not have to give in.   
  
Besides, what was Sam going to do? They were on a twisty highway, doing sixty-five and still losing Dad.   
  
Sam was going to reach over and touch him. He wondered if the boy knew that he wouldn’t be able to use this technique to sway a jury. But damned if it didn’t always work with Dean.   
  
Sam’s hand slid over and inside his thigh.   
  
Dean rolled down the window. Cold air. Cold air and a whiff of Dad’s exhaust should do it. But it didn’t. Sam’s long fingers cradled him, rubbed him, raked a sudden stroke that ripped through him despite the layer of denim.   
  
“Why is this such an issue now?”  
  
“Besides the fact that it’s really fun and feels good?”   
  
“Besides that.”  
  
Sam’s voice got deeper as his fingers unbuttoned Dean’s fly. “We could die, Dean. Or one of us could die. This could be it. And I can’t—I can’t not.”  
  
Dean remembered that Sam had been just as clinging before he left for college—or at least until Dean found out he was leaving for college, leaving him. It was the only time he’d been angry enough, hurt enough to keep his hands off him.   
  
Sam was right. One way or another, this could be it. Death or Sammy leaving him again, this could be the last time he—  
  
Holy fuck, Sammy did not play fair. As soon as he had his fly opened, Sam’s head was in his lap, lips meeting the head of his cock as soon as it cleared his shorts.   
  
“Nnnn—” but his brain couldn’t finish even that little word. He needed every ounce of concentration to keep the car on the road.   
  
“Shit . . . kill us first, Sammy.”  
  
Sam lifted his head to murmur, “I know you’ve had your dick sucked while driving. I was there.”  
  
“Not at . . . fuck, Sammy, sixty-five on . . . c’mon, Sammy.” He eased off the gas.   
  
“Pull over then.”  
  
This constant start and stop was fucking killing him, so was the need to steer.   
  
“Dad—”  
  
“You’ve got a cell phone.” Sam’s breath was tickling over his wet head as he spoke. “Tell him I had to pee.” And Sam was back on him. He couldn’t get far down sideways, but he could still use his tongue and his hand was making up for—   
  
Jesus, there was that flicking thing.  
  
The speedometer was down to thirty, and Dean thought he might make it without pulling off or wrapping them around a tree, but then Sammy made his mouth so tight and wet that—  
  
He tugged the car onto the shoulder. The car jerked and tore up some grass, the undercarriage pinging with debris. He winced and felt his body’s demand to come right the fuck now back off a little.   
  
The car rolled to a stop. Sammy made as if to shift position, but Dean grabbed the back of his head. “Now, Sammy, finish it.”  
  
It was garbled, but he thought Sam managed. “Yes, Dean.”  
  
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”  
  
Sam laughed and damn, that felt good, all those vibrations shuddering up his dick.   
  
“And you’d better not make a mess.” He kept pressure on the back of Sam’s head, kept him where he needed him.   
  
Sam groaned and went as deep as he could and the groan was even better than the laugh.   
  
“Swallow it all, Sammy.”   
  
Sammy was moaning constantly now, a deep rumble that set Dean off almost too soon. His whole body stiffened and he heard Sam’s breath catch just as the first spasm hit. Two more deep shudders, and Sam rode him, lips tight, tonguing him all the way through that short but blistering ride.   
  
He licked him gently as he went soft and then straightened. Dean ignored the deep grin on his brother’s face and carefully tucked himself back in.  
  
“I don’t want to hear about _my_ lack of self-control.” Sam waved at their haphazard angle off the road.  
  
Dean lifted his foot off the brake and started to ease back onto the pavement.  
  
“All right, then. You won’t.”  
  
“Dean?”   
  
Sammy’s astonished tone had him fighting a smile.   
  
“Still right here.” He stepped on the gas, and the Impala shot forward.   
  
“C’mon, Dean, don’t be like this.”  
  
“Like what?” He accelerated into the next turn. The car responded beautifully, his body was perfectly sated, and his brother was pissed off and horny in the seat beside him. He loved his life.   
  
“Such a fucking bastard.”  
  
“A bastard, huh? I’m telling Dad you said that.”  
  
“Dean.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I cannot believe you.”  
  
“Yeah, I am pretty awesome.”  
  
Sam punched his shoulder, hard enough to hurt, not hard enough to do any damage.   
  
“What?”  
  
“That’s not fair.”  
  
“Haven’t we had this conversation about half a million times? Life’s not fair, Sammy.”  
  
They were flying now, and the woods were giving way to fields. No traffic, and Dad’s truck was no where in sight.  
  
“You are such an asshole.”  
  
“Heh. Speaking of which, how’s yours?”  
  
“Fuck you.” And then he almost couldn’t hear him as he admitted. “Still pretty sore.”  
  
That admission should not have pumped pleasure back into his hips. But it did.  
  
“Bet it’s worse with that hard on.”   
  
Dean shot a glance over. Sam’s hands were fisted on his thighs, and even with those loose jeans, Dean could see his erection pressed against the fly. Sam shifted.   
  
“Fucker. It feels like you’re still in me.”  
  
“Jesus, Sammy.” His brother’s words felt like a punch to the diaphragm. He couldn’t catch his breath.   
  
“Dean, I really need to come.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“Why are you being like this?”  
  
“What? You wanted your mouth on my dick, I let you.”   
  
“Dean.”  
  
“You want something else, you can do it yourself.” He nodded at the road. “I’m a little busy right now.”  
  
“I will fucking kill you when this car stops.”  
  
Dean laughed. “I never said I wouldn’t help. Unzip.”  
  
Sam’s erection was like a fucking spike of need, and the arousal did make his ass throb even more. He’d spent the last five minutes thinking of the most painful ways to kill his brother, and now he freed his dick with a sigh of need. Some of the burning ache eased from his thighs.   
  
“Dean.”   
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Sam groaned. “C’mon.”   
  
“Get some napkins from the glove compartment.”  
  
It killed him to lean forward, but he popped the button. It banged into his knee. “Shit.” He grabbed the napkins and slammed it shut.   
  
“Are you leaking?”  
  
The ache poured into his thighs again, not as bitter now. “Yes.”  
  
“Spread it around. Rub it in.”  
  
God, if Dean didn’t touch him soon, his balls would burst.  
  
“Start working yourself.”  
  
“Dean, please.”  
  
‘There’s a curve coming up.”  
  
Sam opened his eyes and saw the yellow sign.  
  
The car swayed as he stroked his dick, eyes drifting shut again. But he wanted, needed Dean’s hand on him. The car accelerated again, straight and smooth.   
  
“Now, please, Dean.”  
  
“’Nother curve.”  
  
Sam snapped open his eyes. The road stretched straight in front of them.   
  
“You fucking jerk.”  
  
“That attitude’s not going to get you what you want. Shift a little closer. But keep those canoe feet of yours on your own side. Keep stroking. That’s it, Sammy.”  
  
Sam’s eyes were drifting shut again. He’d just take care of it himself. Fuck Dean. And then Dean’s hand brushed his thigh and he was straining toward him. And his fucking phone rang.   
  
Dean’s hand disappeared and Sam opened his eyes to watch him flip open the phone. “Yes, sir. Everything’s fine. We needed a pit stop.”  
  
Dean laughed. “Me, too. All right.”  
  
He snapped the phone closed. “Dad wants us to call first if your tiny bladder needs another break.”  
  
“You are such a fucking cocksucker.”  
  
“Doncha wish. Jeez, Sammy, didn’t you come yet? Didn’t I teach you any better technique?”  
  
“Show me again.”  
  
“Nice try. Go on, Sammy. Let me see it. Let me hear it.”   
  
Sam surrendered to the inevitable and began to work seriously on getting himself off. Dean’s hand landed on his thigh again, hot enough to brand.   
  
“Let me hear it.”  
  
He let his head drop back. “Dean. Please. God, I want—”  
  
Those hot fingers moved up closer.   
  
“Jesus, Dean. Stop being such a fucking cocktease or I swear I will kick your ass up your spine when this car stops.”  
  
“That’s my boy.”  
  
Dean finally closed his fist around him, and those fingers, those calluses, they knew what he needed more than he did. Everything right and hard and—  
  
“Don’t forget the napkins.”   
  
Sam wanted to stuff them in Dean’s mouth but he was driving _and_ he’d probably stop stroking his dick. And then he really would have to commit fratricide and no male on the planet would convict him.   
  
He clenched his hand around the napkins, hips rocking as gently as he could, desperate to keep from doing anything that would stop that delicious heat and pressure. Dean’s thumb pressed on the crown and his fingers stretched the skin beneath. He clenched his ass and felt him inside him again. His hips bucked harder, and he was completely unable to stop the sounds spilling from his throat, the need driving him forward, the heat rushing out of him.   
  
Dean made an impatient sigh and grabbed the napkins from his loosened hand. “You really think you’ve got time to change your shirt, dumbass?”  
  
Sam looked down at his come smeared shirt. Dean had only made it worse with those cheap napkins. His brother’s face was full of look #6, smirking, arched brows, “I totally own, you bro” look.   
  
“I swear to God I’m going to get you back for this.”  
  
The look continued. “See this look. This is the look of a man scared shitless.”  
  
“You are going to be ‘less’ something.” Sam muttered.   
  
Dean tossed the comey napkin at him, and Sam swatted it back. Just as he finished tucking himself back in, they sighted Dad’s truck. Dean floored it, pulling to within a hundred feet of his bumper.   
  
“Need protection, Mr. Scared Shitless?”  
  
Dean winked.   
  
No matter how close Dean got, there was only so much Dad could see through a rearview mirror, and none of it was below their necks. He was going to make Dean remember every fucking mile.   
  
And the first thing he was going to lose was going to be that smirk.   
 


End file.
